Author. 




Title 



Class 



Book,. 



3521& 



Imprint. 



pi^i v&&3h 



THE 



BLIND WIDOW, 



^ 3 m ^ams^T 



WRITTEN FOR THE 



Evangelical Magazine 



Gospel Advocate. 



: . :r , ^^ 

BY MRS. JULIA H. A SCOTT, 
Towanda, Pa. ? ' 



HUDSON ; 

PRINTED BY ASHBEL STODDAUD- 



183? 



THE BLIND WIDOW AND HER FAMILY. 



It is a pleasant thing to cast, occasionally, 
life's little cares and perplexities aside, and let 
oppressed memory fill up her beautiful casket - 
with the gem-like reminiscences of early years. 
She brings us the impression of many a bngJvt 
form, now mouldering in earth — she recalls to us 
many a thrilling scene of the long, long past, 
whose very remembrance sends the warm blood 
to the heart, and we awake and look round us for 
the performers of those generous deeds — those 
high and princely acts, which were, in early man- 
hood, the themes of our admiration; forgetting 
the partiality of change for our fair earth's love- 
liest features, and that the north wind scatters 
not more readily the frail flowers of Summer, 
than does change the cherished blossoms of 
humanity. But they leave (thank Heaven!) their 
memory, and we linger with melancholy fondness 
upon the Christian fortitude, the self-denial, the 
pure, impartial benevolence, until, from these, 
we go back to the holy principles from whence 
they emanated, and lose ourselves in contempla- 
ting the religion which taught those blessed ones 
to gather smiles at the fountain of tears, and 
overcome the temptations of this world by the 
low-voiced spirit of pious love. 

I was but a child when Mrs. Hamilton became 
a widow; but I was permitted to attend her hus- 
band's funeral, and can never forget the small 
group of darkly clad forms that clustered round 
his grave, nor how, with childish curiosity, I 
caught the hand of one of the little orphans, and 

• 



gazed rudely into his (ace, to see if he were cry- 
in»\ Nor can I forget how I turned away and 
wept, when I saw the Widow, with clasped hands, 
raise her sightless eyes to heaven, and heard the 
deep sobbings of the eldest daughter and son, 
who had led their blind mother" to the grave. I 
wept, but with infantile selfishness ; for 1 reflect- 
ed, what if it were our own dear father who was 
dead, how would Charles and Harriet cry, and 
how bad we should all feel if our poor mother 
could not see. Such were the natural sugges- 
tions of simple, childish feeling; and so deeply 
does the pen of early impression engrave its 
characters on the tablets of the immortal mind, 
tli at the little scene just described, though of no 
particular importance to myself, shines forth to 
recollection as vividly as if but a yesterday's 
transaction, although many long years have since 
gone by. But to my narrative. 

Mr. Hamilton married with very good pros- 
pects in life. I mean in humble life. He was 
the owner of a small dvy goods shop in one of 
our Southern cities, and his well known honesty 
and persevering business habits, rendered it 
probable that he would arrive, if not at opulence, 
to at least respectable independence. I3ut who, 
alas! may calculate on the certainty of any hu- 
man event? Mr. Hamilton had the misfortune 
to render himself unpopular among his friends, 
by the open and earnest advocacy of a system of 
religion (Universal ism) which was deemed, in 
those days, the root of incalculable evils, and the 
very kernel of heresy. This was an offence not 
to be tolerated, and it injured his business mate- 
rially. He had, beside, one failing, (for it is 
conceded that Universalists have some failings 



4 
although, in view of their doctrines, one would 
almost deem the thing impossible) which was not 
at all calculated to win the smiles of father Mam- 
mon ; namely, a benevolence of heart, which 
always caused him to shed tear for tear with the 
unfortunate, and to open freely his purse for their 
relief. 

Notwithstanding,' te however, the unpopularity 
and too-far-carried effects of his religion, there 
was little doubt of his having obtained a compe- 
tency, but for the breaking out of a fire which 
resulted in the destruction of his shop, and nearly 
all its uninsured effects. This was an almost 
overwhelming disaster, as it reduced him to the 
necessity of accepting an offer of clerkship in a 
large mercantile establishment, the proprietor of 
which, a Mr. Ward, enjoyed no very enviable 
reputation. This man had been recently excom- 
municated from some Christian church, the doc- 
trines of which he continued to advocate, long 
after his expulsion, for the purpose, it was said, 
of furthering the more easily, his dark intrigues, 
under the fair covering of piety. But we will 
leave his character to develope itself in the course 
of these details. 

Long and faithfully had Mr. Hamilton labored 
in the service of "Merchant Ward," as he was 
called; the avails of that labor barely affording 
his family a subsistence, including the expense 
of educating his two eldest children — the first, a 
beautiful daughter of seventeen, and a son two 
years younger; when he was taken away by sud- 
den and severe sickness from the active scenes 
of life, leaving his afflicted wife and five children 
to struggle unprotected through a cold, uncharita- 
ble world ! 



5 
It was with a heavy heart that Widow Hamil- 
ton returned from the funeral to her humble 
home. 'The one clear voice' was not thereto 
welcome her; neither the kind hand which had 
often, since the developement of that dreadful 
disease, called cataract of the eye, been extended 
to direct her uncertain steps. The pale mourner 
sank for a moment, overcome with painful emo- 
tions, but the many sweet consolations of the 
faith whose hopes had brightened her whole life, 
and sustained her husband in the hour of death, 
sent down their precious encouragements to her 
heart, and gave her peace. 'Thou art not an 
orphan, my little James,' cried she, clasping her 
youngest son fondly in her arms. • Neither are 
ye fatherless,' she continued, drawing closely 
together her little bevy of bereaved ones, 'the 
Father of the fatherless is yours. He watches 
you, and will spread his mantle of love over you, 
and ye shall not be hurt. He watches you, and 
will gather, in due time, your immortal spirits, 
with the whole world's purified intelligences, to 
bloom like sweet flowers, as it were, in his own 
bright garden forever ! The storm of adversity, 
'tis true, is gathering darkly above your heads; 
but remember the injunctions of the dear parent 
that is gone, and trust in your Saviour. Let your 
hearts go up to him in frequent prayer, and be- 
lieve me, Oh my precious, sorrowing ones ! believe 
me, he will bless you— he will bless youP Oh, 
who could have seen the grateful tears of those 
affectionate children as they caught the inspiring 
words of their pious mother— who could have felt 
their young, innocent hearts beating warmly with 
high, devotional resolves — who could have'heard 
their fervent aspirations to Him who once took 



6 

such as themselves to his bosom, and blessed 
them — who could have seen and felt all this, and 
said, This is the spirit of Antichrist ? Or, rather, 
who could have witnessed these things, and re- 
frained from saying, This is the light which must 
ultimately dawn upon every one that coineth into 
the world ? 

The death of Mr. Hamilton, it will of course 
be supposed, from his extremely small income, 
left his family in \evy depressed circumstances. 
The expenses incurred in his sickness and burial, 
were considerable; and the Widow found herself 
under the immediate necessity of disposing of her 
pleasant home, and removing to miserable lodg- 
ings, in a narrow by-street, in order to save the 
additional cost of high rent. Here, with the 
assistance of her eldest son, Robert — who, at his 
father's decease, was taken into the establishment 
of Merchant Ward — the slight avails of Marian's 
sewing, and her own small jobs of knitting, 
(being the only work her afflicted situation al- 
lowed her to do,) she contrived to live, although 
the strictest and most ingenious economy was 
necessary to keep them from a state of actual 
pauperism. But no complaint was made, and 
when they were all seated around their scant 
evening fire — for Robert staid with them at nights 
— the closest observer could not have detected a 
single cloud upon their smiling faces, nor heard 
a sentence from their lips, betokening aught but 
the most peaceful serenity. And when the long 
evening's sweet and cheerful conversation was 
over, they all joined in singing a family hymn, 
which was succeeded by the low-voiced mother 
in prayer and thanksgiving, and the young mem- 
bers of that holy family sought their pillows with 



7 
the seeds of eternal life spreading beautifully 
their warm roots through the soul's deep avenues. 
But the hour of temptation was at hand, for one, 
at leasts of their number; and wily were the 
snares of the enemy, laid to entrap his victim. 

Merchant Ward had, during the lifetime of 
Mr. Hamilton, tried e\e\y art in his power to 
obtain the services of that excellent man in some 
of his dishonest schemes. He commenced by 
endeavoring to sap Mr. Hamilton's religious 
principles; thinking that by converting him to 
his own partial system — by doing away the paren- 
tal relationship between man and his Maker — he 
might destroy that love for his fellow-creatures, 
which had ever induced Mr. Hamilton to con- 
sider their interest as his own. But it was of no 
use, and of this the crafty merchant was soon 
convinced, and therefore changed the form of his 
attack. He next attempted to confound princi- 
ple with interest and necessity — to erase those 
nice distinctions between virtue and the form 
thereof, and lead his victim blindfolded, as it 
were, into * by and forbidden paths.' The prac- 
tised eve of James Hamilton, however, detected 
all his subtleties and scorned them; as, also, his 
delicately managed hints at bribery; and the 
vexed and baffled merchant would have discarded 
him, but for the reflection, that he could find no 
one to fill his place. Of the young and inexperi- 
enced son, however, he hoped different things — 
and many were the guarded lectures to which the 
unsuspecting young man was obliged to listen, 
often wondering to what such things tended. 

It was late one stormy evening, when, in a 
dark and unfrequented street, some one touched 
Robert's arm, and the voice of Merchant Ward 



8 
sounded in his ear. * Robert, 5 said he, * I forgot, 
to-day, to speak with you on a subject of some 
importance. But I presume 't will do just as 
well now, as this spot seems to be perfectly pri- 
vate. You recollect, I dare say, Col. Hartley's 
giving me a check on the Mobile Bank, a few 
days since, while in the store?' 'I recollect, 
Sir,' replied Robert, after a moment's musing, 
'seeing him sign a check; but I thought it was 
on a Bank in this city.' ■ No, no, 't was Mobile. 
Don't you know he spoke of its permanency ,and also 
mentioned his extensive interest in it?' S He did ; 
but I have still an impression that the check rela- 
ted to a Bank here. 9 ' No doubt you have, but a 
moment's reflection must convince you of your 
mistake. 'Tis a subject of considerable conse- 
quence to me, and it will, I assure you, be greatly 
to your advantage to remember right — for should 
the matter be called in question, as report says 
it will, I shall depend on you to evidence the 
facts of the case. The thing is undoubtedly 
coming to your memory?' 

1 No, Sir,' answered Robert, after some pause, 
• my mind is quite confused on the subject, and 
reflection only seems to confirm my first impres- 
sions. 5 

'Well, it is very strange,' muttered the mer- 
chant, inwardly provoked to find the lad's memory 
so perversely pertinacious — * 'tis \evy strange you 
should get things so mixed up. You remember 
the Colonel's mentioning, particularly, the Mobile 
Bank — you recollect his signing the check ; and 
/ remember that said check related to said Bank. 
You will, therefore, I presume, have no objection 
to telling the good jury of the court, should one 
be called, that you saw Colonel Hartley give me 



9 
a Mubiie check, remembering, all the time, that 
in performing this little act of friendship, or 1 
un*ht say, duty, you are materially benefiting 
yourself.' 

* I will, most cheerfully, tell them all I know 
about it,' rejoined Robert, ' for I should be glad 
to oblige you ; but I would not, for worlds, testify 
to a circumstance, of the truth of which I am not 
perfectly positive.' 

'Port!' replied the merchant, 'there can be no 
harm in it, at all — you have my word for its truth, 
and you have got it all yourself, except the little 
minutia. Beside, it that exquisite conscience of 
yours should ever trouble you, a priest will ab- 
solve it. Or, you may repent on Protestant 
principles, and be none the worse. And then,' 
he continued, in a soft insinuating tone, (feeling 
the arm he had taken endeavoring to withdraw 
itself,) * the reward you shall receive will make 
your family independent, and the day may come 
that will see you a partner in my establishment. 
Only think, Robert, a partner with Merchant 
Ward!' 

Robert Hamilton was, by no means, destitute 
of ambition ; and we will not say that his heart 
did not beat quicker at the thought of seeing his 
dear mother, and her little ones, in a more com- 
fortable situation; or of being, himself, at some 
future period, in independent circumstances. 
But whatever his thoughts may have been, they 
glided by, like shadows across the dial plate, 
without marring the pure polish of pious virtue. 

• You have certainly mistaken my character,' 

said he, slowly, but firmly — his fine youthful 

form expanding into manliness, as the tide of 

indignant blood rushed impetuously through his 

2w 



10 
swelling veins — 'you have mistaken my charac- 
ter; for, young as I am, I have learned to love 
and keep my heavenly Father's commandments. 
And sooner shall this body be consumed by hun- 
ger — sooner shall this tongue be torn out by the 
roots, than it shall infringe one little hair's breadth 
upon the law which says, Thou shalt not bear false 
witness against thy neighbor. - 

* Then, may these curses fall upon thee/ shout- 
ed the enraged merchant, his voice almost choked 
with the hoarseness of immoderate ^passion— - 
■ may these curses, and worse than these, fall 
upon thee, baser son of a base father! Ay, and 
they shall, if L have any influence over thy desti- 
ny. Presume not, henceforth, to set thy foot 
within my door, but beware. Thou hast goaded 
the lion and may test his strength !' 

1 Say, rather,' said a deep voice near them, ' he 
has disturbed the viper, and may feel his fangs. 1 ' 

And at that moment two human figures passed 
them, but slowly, as if to witness the result of the 
conference. The merchant turned upon his heel, 
without another word, and Robert hastened home 
to relieve the anxiety of those who, he knew, 
must be wondering at his long absence. 

' What ails you, Robert?' said his little sister 
Rose, as the light fell upon his face at the door — 
' what ails Robert, Marian ?' 

'You are very pale, my brother,' said Marian, 
laying aside her work — 'I hope nothing has hap- 
pened.' 

'Are you sick r' added the anxious voice of 
Mrs. Hamilton. 

'No, mother, I am only a little melancholy. I 
have been strongly tempted to-night, and ' 

'And you resisted'— half exclaimed, half in- 
quired the Widow, hurriedly. 



n 

' Yes, mother, I did.' 

1 Thank God ! thank God !' came from the full 
heart of Mrs. Hamilton. 

1 I did resist,' continued Robert, 'but Heaven 
knows whether it may not be the ruin of us all.' 

'Fear not that, my beloved child,' she replied, 
clasping her hands affectionately round his neck, 
• thou hast foiled thy most bitter enemy ; and 
dearer, far dearer art thou to me, with thy pure, 
unspotted heart, than if thou hadst returned laden 
with the spoils of many conquered nations. Fear 
not— but trust in Him who never forsakes the in- 
nocent, and thou shalt ever find cause to rejoice !' 
The circumstances of his meeting with Mer- 
chant Ward were soon related by Robert, with 
ihe exception of what had excited in his mind a 
suspicion of forgery. This tie carefully sup- 
pressed, and after a few brief and charitable 
comments, the evening passed away, as if nothing 
had happened. 

It was but a few days after this, that, as Robert 
was strolling through the city, hoping to find 
some employment he met John Surrey, a former 
companion, of nearly his own age, who was living 
with Merchant Ward, and with whom Robert 
had associated on terms of affectionate intimacy. 
1 We were all sorry to lose you, Robert,' said 
John, grasping his hand, 'and [ guess master '11 
be sorry, too, some day— and this brings me to a 
secret, which I want you should promise to keep 
for me.' ,, 

'I do not like secrets, John,' replied Robert, 
\ they are very apt to make mischief.' 

' That is because they are not well kept. This 
will hurt nobody, unless it is told, and 1 hope you 
will not refuse to gratify me in so small a matter.' 



12 

4 Why, certainly not, 9 rejoined the warm-heart- 
ed, unsuspecting boy, * if it can do no harm.' 

* You promise, then,' said the other, J not to 
reveal what I an) going to tell you P 

' I do.' 

' Well, then, here it is ; the very eyetooth of 
old hardhearted Ward ;' and he took from his 
pocket an elegant gold repeater, suspended by a 
chain of great value. Robert drew back with a 
look of painful astonishment. 

'It cannot be possible, John,' said he, 'that 
you have really — really — ' 

' That I have really learned hocus pocus, you 
would say, Bob. There is nothing truer, I assure 
you ; and master is undoubtedly looking for it, 
by this time. Now, he will suspect me, in the 
start, and 1 want fow to keep it for me till the fuss 
is over, and then you shall have half it is worth.' 

s Oh, foolish, ruined boy!' exclaimed Robert, 
'what have you done? Did you not know that a 
greater eye than Merchant Ward's was upon 
you ? And that you might as well attempt to 
escape the shaft of death, as the thunderbolt retri- 
bution of thy God ? Go back to Mr. Ward, John ; 
confess before him, and your heavenly Father, 
your fault; and you may yet obtain mercy. But 
ask not me to become a partaker in your wicked- 
ness.' 

'Am I an idiot, Robert,' answered the boy, 
sullenly, ' that you expect me to beg forgiveness 
of a man whose very creed is revenge J — But I 
see you are not disposed to befriend me, and I 
suppose L must stand or fall by myself.' And 
starting off abruptly, he was out of sight ere 
Robert could renew the exhortation, which rose 
with redoubled tenderness to his lips. 



13 

It was on the evening succeeding this event, 
that a loud rap was heard at the door of Widow 
Hamilton, and on its being opened, two police 
officers entered, and seizing Robert by the arm, 
pronounced him their prisoner. 

1 And of wfcrat, gentlemen, am I accused ?' 
asked he, eyeing them with a look of calm sur- 
prise. But how was that look changed to one of 
deep consternation, when, from his outer pocket, 
one of the officers produced the identical watch 
which he had seen in the hands of John Surrey ! 
The whole truth and its fearful consequences 
flashed upon him at once; and turning away from 
them, he said in a mournful voice, " mother, I 
fear it is all over with me. I am caught in the 
toils of the adversary, and see no chance of es- 
cape. But pray for me, dear mother ; for, believe 
me, I am innocent.' And he tore himself from 
the sobbing group that surrounded him, and 
accompanied the officers to prison. One moment 
gave the Widow to tears, and petitioning for 
Heaven's aid, but the next was for action. Coun- 
sel must be obtained ; but how, alas, could it be, 
without that general stimulator to good deeds — 
money ? Various plans were thought of, and 
rejected, till at length Marian proposed selling 
her harp, a present from her dear father, in his 
prosperous days. A sale was ultimately effected, 
and the services of a young and inexperienced 
lawyer, (the only one, however, with whom they 
were acquainted,) were immediately engaged. 

The trial came on at an early day, a fid Mer- 
chant Ward and the treacherous Surrey were 
nearly the first to enter the court-room. The 
prisoner was soon called, and the spectators were 
surprised to behold, instead of a dark, heartless 



14 
looking culprit, a lad of frank, open countenance, 
on which sat an expression of sweet, but melan- 
choly resignation. 

■ That does not look like guilt,' exclaimed one, 
as he passed. 

'It maybe but the hypocrisy of its callous- 
ness,' was the reply. 

The trial commenced. The evidence of the 
officers who arrested the prisoner, was first taken, 
and then arose John Surrey, who detailed very 
correctly the conversation had between himself 
and young Hamilton, a few days previous — with 
which the reader has been already favored — 
taking care, however, to put his own dark words 
into the mouth of poor Robert. The case seemed 
too clear to need any farther investigation, and 
when the counsel for the defendant commenced 
cross-examination, his extreme embarrassment 
showed plainly that he was convinced of his 
client's guilt. He had asked but two or three 
faint, irrelevant questions, /when a stern voice, 
from the farther end of the room, cried, 'Stop!' 
and a tall, manly figure strode fearlessly through 
the room, and alter consulting the prisoner a mo- 
ment, and whispering to his lawyer an emphatic 
'sit down !' took the latter's place. 

' 'Tis the People's Lawyer,' said an old gentle- 
man near Robert, in reply to the question, « Who 
is he ?' ' 'Tis the People's Lawyer — the best and 
wealthiest man in the city, and one who never 
pleads except when he sees oppression preying 
upon poverty and innocence. Merchant Ward 
had best look to himself; for, an old man's word 
for it ! something is going wrong.' 

The People's Lawyer, as he was significantly 
termed, was a man aged about twenty-eight, pos* 



15 
sessed of superior beauty of person, and it was 
said of commanding eloquence, which was often 
successfully employed in the cause of the widow 
and orphan. He was, therefore, the fear of the 
oppressor, and the almost idol of the poor and 
honest. He was master, moreover, of a penetra- 
tion of mind, which, in some cases, seemed almost 
intuition. And as his dark eye now glanced upon 
the face of the witness, it seemed to read his 
character at once. He gazed for one long mo- 
ment, sternly and fixedly upon his quailing eye 
and varying cheek — then raising his right hand, 
and pointing his forefinger at his very heart, he 
ctied in a voice that might have startled the con- 
science of a Nero, — 

' John Surrey — John Surrey — knowest thou not 
that the eye of the eternal God is upon thee? 
Knowest thou not that his pen hath this day writ- 
ten perjury against thy soul ? And knowest thou 
not, oh, thrice miserable young man i that he will 
lay in thy sickening bosom the fiery coilings of 
that worm which dieth not, but writhes, and 
writhes, and sends its deadly venom into all the 
channels of thought, and feeling, and hope, until 
the poor victim looks down with melancholy long- 
ing into the gloomy grave, and would give worlds 
for its cold serenity ? Knowest thou not that 
peace shall visit thee no more, day nor night, 
forever, unless thou dost recall the dark words 
which thou hast this hour spoken? Look at thy 
victim, deluded boy ! think of his affection and 
brotherly kindness to thee, and then tell me how 
thou wilt feel to see his youthful form wasting 
away under the cruel labor of a State's prison. 
Tell me how thou wilt feel to see his friends 
weeping over him, as one dead — ay, worse than 



16 
dead — disgraced — and all fur a few False words 
of thine. Look, young man, and tell me.' 

The eye of John Surrey turned involuntarily 
towards the. prisoner's box, and his cheek grew 
paler, and his lip quivered ; for memory was 
busy at his heart, lie thought of the unvarying 
gentleness of that injured friend — of the many 
little sacrifices he had made for his comfort and 
gratification ; he thought of their many sweet 
moments of tender intimacy, when Robert had 
talked to him of heaven, and called him dear 
brother, and his own black treachery rose in 
hideous contrast. Me forgot Merchant Ward 
and his bribe — he forgot his own danger — he for- 
got every thing, save present injustice and former 
love — and rushing forward, and throwing his arms 
round the neck of Robert Hamilton, he sobbed 
out a full confession of his own and his Master's 
base schemes for Robert's ruin, upon his bosom. 
Twice did the enraged merchant rise— twice did 
he attempt to speak — but the eye of the People's 
Lawyer frowned him down, and he was glad to 
escape unharmed, out of court. 

"Who shall describe t\\^ joy of the little family 
of Hamiltons, on the evening of Robert's restora- 
tion to theii\society ? 

•If I could only see your benefactor, the Peo- 
ple's Lawyer,' said Marian, ' I am sure 1 should 
quite worship him. And did you not find out 
where he lives, Robert?' 

'No; in the hurry of the moment, I suppose, 
he forgot to mention his address. But I remem- 
ber, perfectly, the few words he spoke to me, on 
leaving. "Go home," said he, "dear, honest 
boy, and gladden your friends by your presence. 
But - come to me, next week, when 1 shall be at 






\? 

home ; for I would like to have Farther conversa- 
tion with you. Rut, forget not, meanwhile, to 
return thanks k) your Maker, for the happy ter- 
mination of jour difficulties." ' 

* Noble, generous soul,' exclaimed Mrs. Ha- 
milton, Met us not forget his injunction, my 
children, but return thanks to Him whose hand 
is so plainly manifest. Let us not cease giving 
glory, and honor, and praise to his name, forever 
and ever.' And her two pious children respond- 
ed, fervently, l Amen.' 

It was while Robert was in prison, that Mrs. 
Hamilton received a letter from a distant relative, 
in the city of New-York, offering to procure a lu- 
crative situation for her son, near him, and request- 
ing his immediate presence. . This chance was 
not to be neglected, and Robert accordingly set out 
the next morning after his release, regretting deep- 
ly, however, the necessity of leaving his mother and 
her family in so unprotected a situation, as also his 
inability to testify his deep gratitude to the Peo- 
ple's Lawyer, it was not until after her son's 
departure, that Mrs. Hamilton and her daughter 
began to reflect upon their almost hopeless pecu- 
niary circumstances. Robert's traveling expen- 
ses had taking nearly the last penny that remained 
of the money received for the harp, and they 
knew not where to look for more. Their quar- 
terly rent had become due— their stock of provis- 
ions was running low — the little ones were 
almost destitute of clothes— it would be some- 
time before they could expect remittances from 
Robert, and, to add to their embarrassment and 
distress, the youngest child, a fine boy of six 
years, was taken ill of the disease which termi- 
nal! his father's existence. The heart of the 
S xv 



IS 

poor widow was sorely tried in these accunruia-- 
ting difficulties* But she forgot not to look to the 
true source, for comfort and assis&ifice. Nor did 
she look in vain. A newspaper aeeidently came 
into Marian's hands, containing an advertisement 
by a Mrs. Utowrison, for some neat, original scene- 
ry paintings to grace her center table. Marian 
had been acknowledged, while at school, to pos- 
sess splendid talents for drawing. She .therefore- 
set immediately about the task, and her anxiety 
to earn something for the support of her suffering 
family, seemed to give her a species of inspira- 
tion. For in a short time, notwithstanding the 
increasing illness of 'little James, she had succeed- 
ed in finishing two rich and delicate pieces. 

Taking advantage one evening of her sick 
brother's hour of sleep, she and Rose set out with 
beating hearts for the residence of Mrs. Brownson, 
into winch they were admitted as soon as their 
errand became known. 

* Send them in here,' exclaimed a shrill, tre- 
ble voice to the servant wtip announced them, 
4 I would not go into that cold room to see West, 
himself 

They were accordingly ushered into a splendid 
drawing-room, where several young ladies and 
gentlemen were congregated, i'ov the apparent 
purpose of abusing father Time with unmeaning 
prattle. The beautiful cheek of Marian became 
suffused with the deepest crimson, as she beheld 
the eye-glass of one of the young ladies, ranging 
itself in the direction of a faded breadth of her 
almost threadbare pelisse. But she conquered 
the feeling of shame and indignation, and walk- 
ing with a calm, but respectful dignity to the ta- 
ble where Mrs. Brownson remained sitting, she 



19 
-submitted her paintings for inspection. They 
were soon handed from one to another, accompa- 
nied by comments many of which seemed made 
without the least regard for the feelings of the 
humble artist. 

4 Well Kitty, what do you think of them? 5 in- 
quired Mrs. Brown-son of her daiigher; the second 
time. 

1 Why, ma,' drawled out the silly girl, in a tone 
of affected contempt, ' 1 think they look very 
much like my own first attempts. 

• Then your first attempts must have been very 
beautiful, Miss Brownson,' exclaimed a rich, man- 
ly voice, ' and your mother had best, by all means, 
collect them immediately.' 

Marian could not see the speaker, for he sat in 
the shade; but she felt that there was balm in his 
words. 

* Well child,' said Mrs. Brownson, in a some- 
what softened tone, * what do you ask for your 
paintings? I suppose from your looks, that you 
need all they are worth, and perhaps charity should 
add a little more-' 

The color again visited Marian's pale cheek, 
and a tear stood in her dark, intelligent eye, but 
remembering that forbearance is one of the great- 
est of Christian virtues, she replied modestly and 
calmly, ' I have not priced them, madam, but you 
may give me what you think they are worth, i 
wish nothing more.' 

' If you had only come in the day time,' contin- 
ued the unfeeling woman, 4 I could have judged 
better of their merits. Why in the world didn't 
you get here before dark ? Perhaps, though, you 
thought some defects in your pictures might be 
ware easily detected by thus doing.' 



£0 

The recollection of her poor mother, and her little 
brother's distressed situation — of the high hopes which 
had animated her on her setting out from home— and, 
above all, the imputation of low trickery in coming at the 
time she did, sent an arrow to the heart of poor Marian, 
and she could only falter out, ' I could not leave my sick 
brother,' ere her feelings burst forth in a torrent of irre- 
pressible tears, 

' You need not feel so bad, my dear,' said Mrs. Brown- 
son, with an awkward attempt to soothe, ' but give me 
your name and place of residence, and I will send you 
the pay for these scraps in the morning ■ 

The infojination was given, and Marian was glad to 
find herself and sister once more in the street. 

4 Where are you going, my pretty misses, in such a hur- 
ry V asked a vulgar looking creature, staggering up to 
them. ' I am just in time to be a beau for you'— and he 
caught hold of Marian's veil. 

A loud shriek was the reply, and in the next instant a 
powerful arm prostrated the reeling figure upon the pave- 
ment ; and a voice, which Marian thought she had heard 
before, begged her not to be frightened, but permit him to 
protect her home ; an offer which she was glad to accept. 
The stranger bade her good night, at the threshold, and 
the agitated girl hastened to inform her mother of her 
indifferent success. 

It was at an early hour, the next morning, that a gentle 
rap was heard at the Widow's door, and a young man of 
very prepossessing appearance, habited in the plain garb 
of a mechanic, entered, and gave Miss Hamilton a card, 
containing Mrs. Brownson's compliments, accompanied 
by a bank note of some considerable amount. 

4 There must be some mistake here,' said Marian, ' I 
did not expect half so much.' 

1 But she has examined them by daylight,' replied the 
stranger. 

Marian colored to the very temples — not so much at 
the remembrance of the ill treatment of the preceding 
evening, to which the stranger's words recalled her, as at 
the sound of a voice which it seemed to her she had 
twice heard before, and which, she all at once recollected 
to have gone so far as to dream about. The young man 
perceiving her confusion, and not suspecting, probably, 
its cause, soon took his departure ; not, however, until he 



21 

had obtained permission of Mrs. Hamilton to return with 
ah eminent physician, a friend of his, to seethe sick boy, 
who was evidently getting worse. He soon came back 
with the worthy Doctor, who pronounced the child in 
very precarious circumstances. From this time the young 
stranger, whom the Doctor called Mr. Clayton, became 
a constant visiter at Widow Hamilton's, somewhat to the 
good lady's surprise. It might, be sure, be from a feel- 
ing of sympathy at their unprotected situation ; or, from 
a humane desire to assist in taking care of the sick boy. 
But Marian's ever-varying cheek told that she suspected 
a far different story. Besides, his visits continued after 
little James' recovery. Ay— and long after the restora- 
tion of Mrs. Hamilton's eyes to the blessed light of hea- 
ven, by the removal of those painful cataracts Through the 
skill of Mr. Clayton's eminent physician.' What then 
could it be ? 

' We had almost given up looking for you this evening ;' 
said Mrs. Hamilton, as Horace Clayton seated himself be- 
tween her and Marian ; « and we were getting melancholy. 
For you have been with us so long— have ministered so 
kindly to us in sickness— have mingled so cheerfully in 
our devotions— that a day seems lost without you. In- 
deed you seem to fill the place of our dear Robert.' 

4 Would to heaven ! my dear madam,' he replied, ' that 
you would consider me as another " dear Robert" '—and 
he glanced significantly at the blushing Marian. ■ Must 
I speak plainer?' he continued, after a moment's silence 
— * must I tell you how very— very necessary to my hap. 
piness is the possession of this inestimable girl V taking 
in his own, Marian's trembling hand. 

Mrs. Hamilton looked confused. ■ I had not thought 
of this,' she answered, after a long pause. • Besides you 
know not what you ask. I am alone, as it were— Robert 
is a great way off— and how do you suppose I can think 
of parting with Marian, Mr. Clayton— with Marian?' 

' Pardon me, my dear madam,' he replied, ■ I was not 
so cruel as to think of Marian's leaving you. Indeed I 
could hardly love her, if she were willing to do so, under 
existing circumstances. My desire is, that we shall all 
ive together. My provident father made me, in earlv 
lite, master of two trades, and I have no doubt but we can 
render ourselves a very comfortable and happy family ' 

J he face of the Widow brightened up, but she would 



not consent to tax him with such a burthen, until, from 
repeated assurances to the contrary, and an appealing- 
look from Marian, she concluded it to be the best way. 

* But, I forget,' said she, as her eye caught the heartfelt 
smile that played upon Marian's lip, « there may yet be 
an impediment to your union. I trust, Mr. Clayton, that 
you are perfectly acquainted with the liberality of my 
child's religious sentiments. Her faith, I trust, is firm, - 
though in a proscribed religion, and you may not covet 
the honor of having for a wife a decided Universalist.' 

1 This shall .be no objection ;' replied he, gravely ; ' for 
had my prejudices against this sect been ever so great, 
the piety of my dear Marian would long since have done 
them away. No, believe me, this shall never cause dim- 
culty.' 

The final arrangements were then made. The wedding 
was to take place in a few weeks, and Marian wrote to 
Robert, requesting his attendance ; but he returned for 
answer, that he could not, possibly, leave. The ceremo- 
ny was therefore performed only in the presence of the 

family at home, Dr. and an invalid lady, to whom 

Marian had rendered many services. The morning was 
a beautiful one, and as Mrs. Hamilton had not been out 
since the recovery of her sight, Mr. Clayton proposed her 
accompanying him and Marian in a short drive to their 
' cottage home,' as he romantically termed his place of 
residence, { that they might judge of its comforts and con- 
venience,' he said, ' before moving.' 

* And may not I go to-morrow V asked Rose. 

* And I V said Lewellyn. 

' And I, too ?' said little James. 

' Yes, dears, you may all go to-morrow,' replied Mr. 
Clayton, kissing them severally ; and jumping into the 
hack, they were soon out of sight. 

* You may stop here, driver,' said Mr. Clayton, as they 
reached an almost princely residence, a short distance 
from town. 

* And why here, Horace ?' inquired Marian, looking 
surprised. 

' Oh,' said he, smiling, * your mother is fatigued by this 
time, and as I am on very intimate terms with the gentle- 
man who resides here, I thought we would just take a 
peep into his bachelor's hall while the horses are resting*' 
The .ladies accordinglv alighted, 



23 

4 What a splendid situation !' exclaimed Mrs. Hamilton, 
o-azing admiringly upon the spacious marble mansion and 
its highly-finished* out-houses. 

' Your friend must be very wealthy, Mr. Clayton.' 

4 He is worth many thousands, madam,' was the reply. 

1 And oh, what beautiful, beautiful scenery !' ejacula- 
ted Marian, as she looked from the porch upon the far- 
stretched hills and meadows, through which ran streams 
of silver beauty. ' Mother, we are in a perfect paradise.' 

They soon entered an elegantly furnished parlor, where 
Marian found many rich paintings to admire, one of 
which particularly riveted her fancy. 

* Here mother,' said she, * is a beautiful likeness of our 
own beloved John Murray. It cannot be possible, Hor- 
ace, that your friend is a Universalist V 

' He is,' was the answer, * and his enemies say a very 
bigoted one ; and if zeal is one of the symptoms of bigot- 
ry, they may say true, for he displays the most zeal in 
what the " good people" term a "bad cause" of any one 
I ever saw.' 

« Oh, how I should like to see him,' said Marian. 

* You shall have the privilege before long,' replied Mr. 
Clayton, smiling at her eager enthusiasm. * But now, 
while your mother is viewing his reverence, let us look 
into the next room.' 

It was a large library ; and Marian was delighted at the 
array of richly bound books, which met her eye in every di- 
rection. But what was her pleasure and astonishment, 
to behold, in a shaded corner of the room, what proved 
to be a harp — ay, upon examination, the very harp she 
had some months before, sold, to fee her brother's lawyer ! 

' What does this mean ?' exclaimed she, almost gasping 
for breath — ' Is this my very own, own harp ? What can 
it mean V 

* It means, dearest,' whispered Clayton, affectionately 
kissing her cheek, 'that my sweet Marian is hencefortli 
mistress of the place she has so flatteringly called a para- 
dise, and that her husband, knowing he could not do too 
much for one so deeply loved, has purchased back her 
harp, that she may often be reminded of the dear father 
who gave it, and who is now an angel amoug the blest.* 

* Oh, this is too, too much,' sobbed out the grateful girl 
upon his bosom. ' If Robert were only here now.' 



M 
' Robert where,' exclaimed a well-known voice, and in 
the next moment, the son and brother was in their arms 
It was a bewildered looking group. Robert gazed a mo- 
rnent upon Mr. Clayton, then turning to his mother and 
lister, begged to know what accident had brought them 
to the house of the ' People's Lawyer' ? 

' The People's Lawyer ." exclaimed they in a breath. 
It would be useless to attempt describing the scene 
which followed this annunciation. It will suffice to say, 
that Mr. Clayton made an explanation, which showed 
that he was, unequivocally, 'the People's Lawyer,' who, 
having accidentally overheard the conversation between 
Merchant Ward and Robert, and being thereby thoroughly 
convinced of the honesty of the latter, detei mined to 
save him, although a stranger. He saw and admired 
Marian at the house of Mrs. Brownson, and determining 
that she should love him for himself, alone, he diso-uised 
himself, as he had often done before, in the dress of a 
common working man. (to which he seemed entitled, as 
his father had, through caprice, given him two trades,) 
and had succeeded in winning the heart of one, whose 
virtues were the effects of a doctrine dearer to him than 
his own life. He had written a statement of his situation, 
under injunctions of secrecy, to Robert's employer, and 
through him requested Robert's presence at his house at 
a given hour, on special business, ' which business,' said 
he, taking him affectionately by the hand, ' is, that you 
should leave New- York, and make us all happy, by taking 
up your abode with us, where you shall have abundant 
opportunity of glorifying, with us, your heavenly Father, 
by doing good to your fellow-creatures.' 

1 Oh, our God hath dealt very, very bountifully by us, 
my dear children,' exclaimed Mrs. Hamilton, raising her 
streaming eyes to heaven 'let us not neglect to acknowledge 
our heartfelt gratitude at the footstool of his great mercy.' 

And those happy children knelt around their beloved 
mother, and listened to a prayer as humble, as fervent, as 
eloquent, as ever fell from human lips. And the pure 
devotion and piety, inspired by the belief of, and trust in, 
God's impartial, universal grace — thus tested by adversi- 
ty, suffering, and temptation — continued brightly to glow, 
and give light to all around in the hour of prosperity, en- 
joyment, and triumph. 



|M»&: 0F CONG RESS 

■fflfilll, fj 




